CHAPTER TWELVE #3
Raith’s ire rose the more as he stripped off his gloves.
How poisonous a tongue had this scoundrel.
For he could feel the insinuating pull of his own suspicion even from this slight turn.
He flung down the gloves and his voice became snappish.
“Be specific, and do not attempt to suborn me with artifice.”
Forteviot spread his hands, his smile broadening. “I have no wish to do so, Anton.”
“I know what you wish, Forteviot. You think to extract money from me. You will find me an ill subject for extortion.”
The other looked pained. “So ugly a word, Anton. No, no. If I seek recompense, it is not to be wondered at. Twenty thousand is a goodly sum.”
“Which you won fairly at play. But not from Rosina.”
To Raith’s surprise and distrust, Forteviot heaved a sigh tinged with melancholy. “I thought to win her, you see. You have succeeded — inadvertently, I know — where I could not. I suppose I am too old for her.”
Disgust coursed through Raith. “Spare me your shams. You are not trying to make me believe it was marriage you intended? Do you take me for a fool? You sought to make a harlot of her.” He all but ground his teeth, and his long riding frock rippled with motion as he jerked across the room.
“You would have taken her innocence, and dropped her without compunction when she no longer suited your purposes.”
Forteviot’s eyebrows rose again, and he laughed gently. “My dear Anton, nothing could have been further from my mind. Naturally I could not marry a girl who came with no dowry or connections. I have a position in society to keep up.”
“Which is as much as to say that I have not.”
“You entirely mistake me, Raith. But you misunderstand. When I say I failed to win her, I mean she did not favour me. That did not imply she was unwilling to take up the role I had outlined. Rosina had no objection to the bargain of itself. It was sealed with her agreement. Indeed, she was very frank with her requirements.”
“Take care! If you knew how my fingers itch to close about your throat —”
Forteviot threw up a hand. “Believe me, I appreciate your feelings. But you have come to me with accusations, my friend, and I have my reputation to consider.”
In one violent movement, Raith swung over to the table where the man sat, and slammed his hands down upon it. “Your reputation is not at stake here, sir. We are discussing the reputation of my wife. I say to you again, take care.”
For a brief instant, he saw the flare of retaliation in the other man’s eyes. Then they were veiled again, and the habitual urbanity returned.
“I see that you have not lost that hot-headed temperament that was so much your undoing all those years ago.”
Raith did not move from his position. “No, I have not lost it. If you value your skin, Forteviot, you will beware of it.”
His tormentor held up one well-manicured hand. “Consider me warned.”
His jaw tightening, Raith stood upright once more. His tone was biting. “Very well, then. Tell me this, if you please. If Rosina was willing to become your mistress — I do not mince words, I — why did she run away?”
Forteviot looked blank. “Is that what she said?”
Once again, Raith found himself almost caught by the expression of innocent enquiry, as if Rosina had been trapped in a lie. Hell and damnation, but the fellow was wily! Well, then, let him set his head in a noose. He clamped his lips upon a sharp retort.
“You have another explanation?”
“I hesitate to say this, my dear Anton, for I know how it must wound you. But the boot was on the other leg. Had I accepted her for the debt at the last, I should have been obliged to hand her back. I had not bargained for receiving damaged goods.”
By extreme effort of will, Raith contained himself. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he could barely get out the words. “How would you know if they were damaged?”
Forteviot’s lips pursed, and his features became pinched in an expression of displeasure. “I am sorry to say that my partner in the exchange betrayed me.”
An oath left Raith’s lips. The wretch knew of that? “He told you?”
There was scorn in the other’s smile. “You do not know Cambois. What would you? He was drunk, as ever he is. The fellow confessed all to me.”
In spite of himself, Raith could not help the question. “How do you know that he succeeded, carried out the attack?”
“Oh, did Rosina say otherwise?” The tone was all innocence. “Dear me.”
He sighed again, and Raith met his eyes, despising himself for the dread rise of uncertainty in his breast. “What is your inference this time?”
Forteviot spread his hands again in his characteristic way. “I hesitate to say it, Anton. You have several times offered me violence this morning, and —”
“Say it, and be damned to you!” Raith flung at him, thrusting away to the window.
“Then do not blame me, for I am quoting another.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
“Cambois gave me to understand that someone had been before him. A footman belike. She consorted, he said, a great deal with the servants.” The tone lowered to one of hushed compassion.
“Rosina did not run away, my poor Anton. Cambois was obliged to throw her out.”